A poem by: Ben Dunk 1967




I went to a party

and was bored beyond joke.

fed up with the drink, the noise and the smoke.

So I sat in a corner next to a friend,

who spoke to me knowingly,

with philosophical bend.


I started him off,

by talking this way;

“What do think our purpose is pray?”-

“Why do you think we are placed on this Earth?”


His reply was astounding,

but profoundly sincere:

“I’m glad for your asking

why, we are here”:

“I’ve thought a great deal

‘bout this in the past

and the conclusion I’ve come to,

is to do with the ass, and, I don’t mean a donkey!,

no! don’t go,

please here me through,

to see what you think,

regarding my theory,

although it may ‘stink’”.




“Right from our birth,

our purpose on Earth,

cannot be fate

and must be controlled by higher dictate,

leading us on;

unaware of the con”.


“Be we pauper or king,

there’s only one thing,

we do very well,

up to our death,

whether mute, lame or deaf”.







“We are, it is known,

a complex machine,

for changing things grown,

to organic brine.

This we do well,

all of our life,

even the act of taking a wife,

produces more workers,

and population to swell.

Even the shirkers,

are equally good,

at converting their food;

in this grand promotion,

of circular motion”.


I admitted I’d not,

thought of this plot,

the idea, that we feed,

just to make more,

of decaying core;

is degrading indeed.




My friend did continue:

“What do we do,

with the shit

we produce?

Why nothing of course,

we think it’s no use.

We destroy every bit

and convert it to juice.

It is such a crime

and a complete waste-of-our-time!”